


Bad Company

by lenaballena



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hackers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Criminal Masterminds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenaballena/pseuds/lenaballena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a very important, and deceptively simple, mission. He just has to remember the coded language, get the coffee cup, and deposit it at one of the drop sites. Easy.</p><p>Besides, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are incredibly good at what they do, and their plan is, at a glance, foolproof. However, they forgot to take into account one simple, fundamental detail:</p><p>The universe, for whatever reason, wants to make Enjolras suffer.</p><p>And that's where Grantaire comes in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Company

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make it pretty clear, but to avoid confusion, when Combeferre's speaking through Enjolras' earpiece, his dialogue is in the little sideways triangle things that definitely have a name, <like so>, and Courfeyrac's dialogue is in the square brackety things [like so]

<Alright, surveillance connection in three, two...>

< _Gotcha_. >

<Enjolras, scratch your nose and open up a game app if you can hear me.>

Enjolras yawns and scratches the edge of his nose, shifting from side-to-side in his seat. He slides open Tetris on his phone (not _actually_ his, but easily disposable and with planted fake information in case he gets caught) and begins playing it idly.

<Beautiful. Courf, you with us?>

Enjolras waits for Courfeyrac's voice to join Combeferre's in his ear, but hears only silence.

<Courfeyrac.> A beat of silence, as Combeferre sighs, half-annoyed. <Combeferre to Courfeyrac. Come in Courfeyrac.> Combeferre lets out an irritated growl, and it resonates uncomfortably in Enjolras' ear. < _Come in or I'll erase you from the face of the earth and bury you alive in a corn field in Oklahoma you infuriating_ ->

[Would you happen to know what time it is?] Courfeyrac's voice comes through the wire at last, pleasant and almost sing-songy, and Enjolras feels his fists unclench.

<13:07:03> [1:06] The answer comes in from both Combeferre and Courfeyrac's ends, though the voice in Courfeyrac's sounds... well, high, soft, and _old_ , so most likely one of an elderly woman.

[Thanks so much. Well, this is me.] A beat. [Alright, I'm here; _Jesus_ you're impatient.]

<What the hell was that?>

[Stuck in an elevator with a little old lady.]

<An _elevator._ >

[Yeah, you know a better way of getting onto the roof?]

<Uh, well, stairs would be a start.>

[On 'em right now; _breathe_ , 'Ferre.]

<Oh, I'm sorry, am I taking our terribly important bit of smuggling of information that could get us _murdered_ too seriously? _Sure_ , take a break, prop your feet up, might as well prepare for when we're hanging by our ankles in some godforsaken->

[Roof access acquired.] A beat. [How much coffee have you had this morning?]

<Not important.>

[When's the last time you slept.]

< _Not important_. >

[For approximately how many hours have you been staring at your computer screen?]

<For fuck's sake, Courf, you're _not_ my mother. And if I hear another word about anything non-mission related, I'll evict you from your apartment.>

[ _Yeah, yeah, yeah._ ]

<Enjolras, you still there?>

Enjolras tilts his head up from where he's failing atrociously at playing Tetris, finds the security camera in the corner of the coffee shop, and gives it the most scathing look he can muster. 

<Heh. Sorry?>

Enjolras rolls his eyes and wonders, not for the first time, why the hell he's stuck on retrieval and not their actual _con artist and smuggler_.

<C'mon, Courfeyrac needs to lie low since the Bank incident, you know that.>

Enjolras huffs, swiping his finger angrily across the mountain of tetris pieces he's piled, not sure if it's a gift or a curse that Combeferre seems to actually be capable of reading his mind. Mostly it's just worrying, really.

[I've got the tripod unpacked. Opening the laptop, establishing connection, and... ooh, the barista's cute.]

Enjolras can _feel_ Combeferre rolling his eyes, but the hacker doesn't say anything, other than,  <Alright, Enjolras. Remember your lines?> Enjolras gives him another scathing look, and hears a snort come from Courfeyrac's line. <Alright, sassy, then the cup will have an R, for Raphael of course, thought you'd like that, and two dots above it.>

R for Raphael. Enjolras is going to _murder_ Combeferre, and the sad thing is that the hacker knows as much already, and Enjolras can hear him chuckling to himself as he stands up and moves towards the counter, making a mental note to _smash_ his asshole of a bestfriend's computer one day.

Trailing his fingers against he counter as if he's actually pondering a difficult decision rather than making a coffee order he's rehearsed thrity times and could recite in his sleep, Enjolras takes a breath and looks up at one of the baristas, who is apparently their contact, Feuilly, if his name tag is accurate, and- okay, if he knew the guy would be _that_ attractive he would have at least worn clean clothes, but c'est la vie.

"Jeez, they start charging any more for coffee and I'll have to start putting my java on lay-away." Enjolras says, determindely ignoring the little snort of derision that Courf gives from his line.

[Wow, look at you, all hip to the young kid's lingo.]

Feuilly nods slowly, not looking at him as he finishes wiping down his side of the bar. "Yeah, I think I could save up enough cash from this job to buy a couple cups a month if I really scrimped on the necessities; you know, food, shelter, stuff like that." He's got the predetermined code down verbatim, and Enjolras lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding before Feuilly turns to set the rag down and smile at Enjolras. "So, what can I over-charge you for?"

[Ooh, this guy's good.]

"Uh... lemme get..." Enjolras pretends to think, looking over the menu again. "Half-Caff, Ristretto, Venti... four pump, sugar-free, cinnamon, Dolce soy skinny latte? And have it scorching."

Jaw dropping slightly, Feuilly raises an eyebrow at Enjolras. "You've _gotta_ be kidding me."

Enjolras bats his eyelashes innocently. "It's my favorite."

"Fine, can I get a name?"

"Raphael, but... just 'R' is fine." Feuilly nods once, turning around to begin making the order.

"Fucking pretentious hipster pretty-boy assholes..." He grumbles, just loud enough for Enjolras to hear, finishing up their little exchange and clarifying that everything is going perfectly to plan.

<Alright, well, just pick up the order and we're golden. That was easy.>

There's a loud, overdramatic groan from Courfeyrac's line. [What did you just say?]

<I told him to pick up the order.>

[You said _that was easy_.]

<And?>

[And now you _jinxed_ it, dammit Combeferre, don't you know _anything_ about tempting fate? It's like you've never seen a single one of those movies you pirate.]

Because fate is a grade-a asshole, Enjolras is so distracted by their bickering that he trips over something. Or, to be more accurate, someone. As in, he tumbles into another human being and they both go crashing to the ground.

"Oh my god I am _so sorry_." He says, as Courfeyrac's muffled laughter echoes in his ear. He awkwardly pries himself off a small woman with curled blonde hair and a barista apron, who smiles at him like she knows all of his secrets and loves him anyway. It's not a look you see often.

"Oh, it's no problem." She says, as she takes the hand he holds out and he helps her to her feet. "Nothing seems broken, and I could use the wake up call."

Enjolras laughs nervously, trying to make sure she's not injured without seeeming like he's really obnoxiously checking her out. "Really, I- I don't know what's wrong with me today, I-"

"Apology accepted." She smiles, and holds out a hand. "I'm Cosette."

"Uh- Raphael, nice to meet you."

[Ooh, try to get her number]

<Um, _no_ , make a quick excuse, get your coffee, and _get out_. >

[Spoil sport. _Raphael_ would totally try to get her number, I'm just suggesting he stay true to the character...]

"I- uh, I should go, I-" Enjolras mutters as awkwardly as he can manage, trying out a few awkward ticks he picked out from the personality studies he's been doing. He scratches at the back of his neck and shuffles his feet slightly. "Places to be, you know."

"Yeah, I've got that whole job-thing going on." Cosette smiles. "I mean, assuming it's not International Tackle-A-Barista Day, in which case I should probably call in sick."

Enjolras doesn't know how to respond to that one, so he just laughs and thanks all the deities he knows that Cosette apparently considers that an effective way to end a conversation and smiles before walking away.

[Well that was sufficiently awkward, can we go home now?]

<Your cup is on the counter, Enjolras.>

Silently cursing whoever thought Enjolras was the best man for this job (Combeferre) as well as the asshole that made it impossible for him to give any alias but his most hated of all (also Combeferre), Enjolras slides over to the counter with as much casual bravado as he can master and picks up the cup, noting that the letter R is scrawled messily along the side, with no tell-tale dots. He holds it up calmly to the camera for inspection.

<What the _fuck_ is that.>

[Did he forget the symbol?]

<His _breathing pauses_ were timed perfectly, do you really think he'd forget the _specific symbol we asked him to make at least thirty times_? >

Enjolras frowns, and tries to wave down Feuilly for an explanation. "Um, excuse m-"

[Fuck.]

[ _Fuck_.]

<What? What's happening?>

[It's the wrong cup.]

<Come again?>

It's a true sign of just how well things have fallen to shit that Courfeyrac doesn't even comment on the innuendo. [Someone else has the cup, he's walking out- he took your order while you were on top of blondie, _fuck_ , Enjolras-]

Enjolras turns around deliberately slowly to see a man in a ratty leather jacket and a loose black beanie round the corner with a coffee cup in his hand with one red 'R' on the side.

[Shit, okay, keep your cool, no need to panic-]

< _Fuck_ that! Enjolras, tackle him to the ground if you need to we are not losing tha- >

[Can just anyone read it?]

< _Excuse me_? >

[The chip thingy. Can _anyone_ read it, like, could this guy read it if he tried hard enough?]

<Probably not, I'm more concerned about him throwing it away or _swallowing_ it. >

Enjolras rushes through the door, cup still in his hands, wishing he could tell them both to _shut the fuck up_ without sounding like he's got voices in his head and confusing everyone within a two foot radius. Instead, he picks up his phone and fake dials a number, bringing the device to his ear and waiting a few seconds as he steps into the courtyard outside the coffeeshop. 

[Well, okay, we won't go to prison, we'll just have to redo a few months' worth of work]

<You fail to realize that it's a few months' worth of _my work_ , so excuse me if I'm not dancing for joy->

[Hey, trying to look on the bright side here-]

"I swear to _god_ if the two of you don't stop fighting and fucking _help me_ I will turn you in _myself_." Enjolras growls into the phone, before pressing a couple of unnecessary keys and shoving it back into his pocket as he glances around frantically, finally spotting his coffee order sitting across from a scruffy, grungy, alternative-rocker-turned-drug-addict looking man, who's typing away at his phone with a slight grin, and sitting at one of the tables.

<Sorry, Enjolras.> Combeferre's voice comes sheepishly into his ear. <Courfeyrac, method of attack.>

[Okay, I texted Gav, he'll be there in a second; Enjolras- uh, stall.]

< _Stall_. >

[Yeah, uh, try just... asking for it?]

Enjolras closes his eyes tight, because Courfeyrac is the _least helpful human being in all of recorded history_. Taking a breath, he walks over to the drug-addict looking human determinedly, before walking into a chair and stumbling mid-step.

There's a beat of silence, before Courfeyrac half-groans, half-mutters, [We are the worst spies _ever_.]

<Shut _up,_ Courfeyrac. > Combeferre's voice sounds strained, like he's on the verge of laughter, before he clears his throat and makes a little half-interested noise. <Oh, hey, Enjolras- he's smiling at you.>

[Dude, okay, you have to use that, flirt with him!]

<You want _Enjolras_ to flirt with another human being? >

[Name me one better way of getting something from a man.] A beat. [Yeah, that's what I thought.]

Taking a breath, Enjolras completes the remaining few steps over to the table, smiling feebly at the man, who's got an amused eyebrow quirked up.

"Uh, hey."

"Hey," He replies, a smirk pulling at his chapped lips. "Fucking chairs, huh?"

"What? Oh." Enjolras glances back to the chair he had tripped over, then turns to shrug at the man. "Yeah, they should be considered a menace to society, honestly; assaulting innocent civilians, disrupting the flow of traffic outside of overpriced coffee shops."

['atta boy. Look it you, all jokey.]

The man laughs, a low, deep chuckle, and gestures to the seat in front of him. "Wanna sit, um..."

"Enjolras." Enjolras supplies on reflex, and can hear the identical sharp intakes of breath that both Courfeyrac and Combeferre give as he pulls out the metal-framed chair and sits.

[ _Enjolras_ ,] Courfeyrac says slowly. [Remember when I was getting you ready for this and rule number one-]

<Was _never_ give your real name? > Combeferre finishes, and Enjolras can _feel_ him massaging his temples in frustration.

"I'm Grantaire." Says the man, tucking a couple strands of curling dark hair behind the seam of his beanie. "Leader of my local chapter of the anti-chair movement, nice to meet a fellow spporter of the cause."

Enjolras feels himself chuckling at that, as he replies, "Yeah, why can't we all just stand? The world would be a better place, honestly."

"My point exactly!" Grantaire laughs, grinning at Enjolras. "Though, I suppose I owe your company to that chair, so I can't _really_ complain."

<Is he flirting?>

[He's _totally_ flirting. I am so high-fiving you in my mind right now.]

"Ah, right, um, actually my company does have a bit of an ulterior motive."

"Really?" Grantaire quirks up his eyebrow and tilts his head slightly. "And that would be...?" 

[Flirt back, _flirt back_ ]

"I mean, I kind of hoped to get your number, but you also..." Enjolras frowns. "You have my coffee?"

"Oh, shit do I?" He looks down at his cup, then frowns at what he sees. "Ah, no, it's got the 'R' on it, it's mine."

"Your name is Grantaire, not Rantaire, right?" Enjolras half-teases, because _he really fucking needs to get that coffee cup_.

Grantaire's eyebrows move upward as he begins to laugh, "Uh, yeah, it's... um, kind of an inside joke? I go by capital R, my name's Grantaire, it's hard to-"

[Oh my god marry that man.]

Enjolras gets it a beat after Courfeyrac does, and grins at Grantaire. "It's a pun, right?"

"No, it- yeah." Grantaire beams back at him. "Not many people understand French name puns nowadays."

Shrugging, Enjolras taps his fingers against the counter. "It's a tragedy, really."

Grantaire chuckles, then looks at Enjolras' cup, frowning slightly as he teases, "Your name isn't _Renjolras_ , is it?"

<No, Grantaire, in fact, it's _supposed_ to be Raphael, but Enjolras wouldn't know subterfuge if it bit him in the a- >

"Uh, it's kind of a nickname, too." Enjolras says, cutting off Combeferre's irritated muttering. "My friends call me Red."

"Ahh, that makes sense, because you're so... ginger." Grantaire gives a pointed glance towards Enjolras' long, curling blond hair.

"It's my favorite color."

"Gotcha." Grantaire taps the side of his cup, then slides it over, to Enjolras' delight. "So, what'd you get?"

"Half-Caff, Ristretto, Venti, four pump, sugar-free, cinnamon, Dolce soy skinny latte. Scorching." He recites, easy as breathing, and Grantaire gapes at him.

"Holy _crap_ you're an asshole." He says, then backtracks immediately when Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him, taking a slow drink of the (frankly, disgusting) coffee in his hands. "Fuck, okay, that- shit, I fucked up _already_ -" He mutters, then takes a shuddering breath. "I just meant that that's kind of a complicated order."

<Yeah, draining the cup would be ideal, not sure how long the protective case will last, I mean, I calculated for four hours but better safe than sorry.>

"Is it?" Enjolras says, as if they didn't pick the order for precisely that reason. He shrugs, taking another long drink and trying not to wince at the taste and heat. He's going to kill Combferre, he really is. Slowly. And with knives."Whoops."

Grantaire stares at him, eyebrows raised, and drags his teeth up the side of his lower lips for a second, hopefully not noticing the way Enjolras can't help but stare at the motion. "You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?"

[Oh, you have _no idea_ -]

"Is that a problem?" Enjolras smirks, finally settling into this 'flirtatious' role he's playing as he drinks from the cup again, determined to get it over with quickly.

Grantaire smiles at him. "Not at all." He says, then looks down at his fingers as they tap against the table. "So, uh-"

[Mother of God.]

"Do you go to school around here?"

<Wha- oh. Oh _fuck_. >

Enjolras pales, listening intently for either Combeferre or Courfeyrac to continue. 

[Is that-]

<No, it _couldn't_ be. Not now.>

" _What_? _"_ Enjolras hisses, then looks back up to Grantaire, who seems not a little taken aback. "Sorry, I just-" He glances behind Grantaire's head, to where Gavroche is strolling past, his ratty backpack slung over one shoulder, and (thank _god_ ) the teenager tosses a crumpled up wrapper over his shoulder as soon as he sees Enjolras glancing to him. He takes a slow drink of the coffee, muttering, "Kids littering. Like the planet isn't fucked up enough as it is."

[I'm trying to get a better visual, hold on-]

As Enjolras gets nothing but the sound of rustling and movement and occasional grunting (Courfeyrac must be jumping from roof to roof again), Grantaire turns around to see Gavroche as the kid reaches up to plaster a couple of skateboarding stickers on a bikerack. He snorts, raising an eyebrow at Enjolras. "Yeah, because one kid's trash is really what's shitting up our environment."

Enjolras blinks. "Well it certainly doesn't _help_."

"So what, in your spare time you clean every inch of the city for trash and make sure it's put in the 'proper recepticals'?" Grantaire scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Because you would, if you _really cared_."

[Fuck. It is.]

<You have _got_ to be kidding me. >

[Enjolras, Montparnasse is inside the coffeeshop. You are like fifty feet away from Montparnasse, holy _christ-_ does he know? Holy fuck tell me he doesn't know- _]_

Enjolras feels his entire body freeze. They've been tracking this one crime ring in the city for months now, have got an operative inside of it who feeds them information, information like names and plans and warehouses they use for smuggling, information like the chip that's hiding in Grantaire's flimsy paper cup. Montparnasse is one of the members of this crime ring. According to their intelligence, he's a pretty damn high-up member of this crime ring. If he knows about Enjolras, about what they're doing, Enjolras is as good as dead.

"-those 'raising awareness' people, you know? Who scold but never take action- not to say there's anything wrong with-"

[Enjolras, you have to get out of there _now_.]

<Trash the cup, Gavroche will pick it up after you leave, just _get out of there_. >

"-but I'm rambling, I guess, I don't even really give a shit about the environment, like, it's gonna fall to shit no matter what we do-"

"I have to go." Enjolras stands abruptly, cutting off Grantaire's rambling words. "Sorry, uh, see you around, I guess." He makes a beeline for the trashcan, but only takes a couple of steps before Grantaire catches up to him, standing in his path.

"Shit, I'm sorry, it was the rambling, wasn't it?"

"No, I'm just on a schedule." Enjolras says, waving him off. He tosses the half-empty cup into the trashcan, confident that Gavroche will either find the chip in the can or just bring the whole damn garbage bag back so they get the chip anyway.

<Okay, he's still inside, Enjolras, we have to assume someone tipped him off about the exchange, you can't afford to let him see you->

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him. "You didn't even drink that."

"Didn't really want it." Enjolras says, then internally curses himself for speaking without thinking. _Again_. 

[Enjolras, don't you dare start running, that'll be _so_ suspicious.]

<Just- gracefully make the fastest exit you can.>

Grantaire's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "So why were you hassling me about it?"

"I-" Enjolras turns, back towards the street corner. "Just wanted a reason to talk to an attractive guy in a beanie, is that a crime now?"

[For _fuck's sake_ , Enjolras, you're supposed to be ending this conversation, not asking him out, remember?]

<He's still at the counter, you've got like two, three minutes, _tops_. >

Grantaire lights up. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, but I really have to go, sorry-" Enjolras steps around Grantaire, trying to walk out slowly but deliberately, but the man steps around and in front of him again. Enjolras ponders the merits of shooting him.

<He's looking around...>

"Okay, fuck, I hope I'm reading this right-" Grantaire says, shuffling awkwardly. "But, can I have your number? And, like, maybe take you to dinner sometime? Or lunch, if that's less-"

"You're great, really, and I'd love to, but I really-"

"C'mon, seven digits. Is it really that hard?"

[ _Enjolras..._ ]

"It's not as if you're not interested!" 

Enjolras frowns. "That's a little presumptuous."

"You were flirting since you sat down, you _just_ said you didn't care about coffee, you just wanted to chat me up; I think I can presump a little."

"What happened to 'I hope I'm reading this right'?" Enjolras scoffs, trying to get around this man who seems like he wants to ruin _his entire fucking life_.

"Well you could at least give me a fake number, not just say 'I'd love to, bye', who even _does that_?"

<Fuck, Enjolras, he's heading for the door, he's looking at you, fuck, _fuck_ ->

Enjolras can't look behind him, and can't just push Grantaire aside and run, because both would be too fucking obvious but hell if he's going to take the time to stop and write out a number for this asshole. "Seriously, can you just leave me alone?"

[I have to shoot him. Them. Montparnasse then this Grantaire guy, quick and easy-]

"You _sat down at my table and flirted with me_ , said you wanted my number, called me attractive-"

<You did not _seriously_ just say that. >

[It might be our only option!]

"-tiny little numbers, what's the problem here?"

<You are not _shooting a civilian_ , Courf, are you fucking _kidding me_? >

[Better him than Enjolras!]

"Can I just go? Please?"

<Courfeyrac, I'm going to pretend you're kidding. Enjolras, he's fifteen point six feet away from you think of something _quick_ -"

"You could seriously give me the number 999-9999 and I would leave you alone, why the hell can't you just make somethin-"

Enjolras panics, okay? It happens to everyone when there are three different people pressuring them simultaneously, and he's not exactly drowning in options. But yes, he should have asked first. Definitely. And _yes_ , it's so cliche it almost hurts, but he grabs Grantaire by the collar, leans down slightly, and kisses him, partially just to shut him the hell up.

[ _Sweet dear lord Christ on a cracker_.]

Grantaire makes a muffled noise of protest, then freezes under his touch, and Enjolras wonders what he'll do if Grantaire just pulls away and punches him in the face. However, Grantaire, after a moment of shock and, admittedly, probably considering the punching option, apparently decides to just go with it, and kisses him back.

<Well, we're dead.>

After a good few seconds, Enjolras accepts that he's about to be murdered and finds he's generally okay with it if the last thing he ever does is try to bring down a human trafficking ring and simultaneously get to kiss someone who  _really knows how to kiss._ Not that he wouldn't have liked to spend a lifetime destroying corrupt institutions, but hey, could be worse. Then someone clears their throat behind him.

Enjolras pulls away from Grantaire, who looks shell-shocked, confused, and like Christmas has come early, and turns around to see Montparnasse, standing casually in a black blazer, a coffee mug in one hand, and one of his (admittedly perfect and simultaneously menacing) eyebrows raised in amusement.

[Enjolras, I love you.]

<We both do.>

[Also we had sex in your kitchen.]

< _Oh dear god._ > _  
_

"So I guess this is him, then?" Montparnasse says, smirking, and then nods, obviously impressed. "Not bad, 'taire." He reaches over to exchange a fist bump with Grantaire, and Enjolras' entire brain shuts down.

Turning back to enjolras, Montparnasse smiles, bright and genuine, his snake bite piercings glinting in the afternoon sun."Hey, the name's Montparnasse." He says, finally, to Enjolras, who makes a noise a bit like a strangled gerbil. "I'm sure Grantaire's told you _all_ about me."

"Only the bad things." Grantaire laughs nervously.

"Pssh, what bad things?" Montparnasse waves away Grantaire and smiles again, all perfect white teeth, before gesturing to Enjolras with the hand holding a coffee mug. His nails are perfectly manicured. This is not at _all_  what he was expecting from a cold-hard criminal. "It's Cameron, right?"

Enjolras makes a noise that sounds like he's either agreeing or trying to inhale a grape.

[What. Is.  _Happening_.]

"Well, it's killer to meet you, after _all these months_." Grantaire laughs awkwardly next to Enjolras, who, thanks to meticulous hours of training with Courfeyrac repeatedly telling him that if something unexpected happens to just _fucking go with it_ , reaches out and grabs Grantaire's hand. It's warm, and a bit bigger than his, but not unpleasant to hold. He smiles down at it, which is- honestly, about half fabricated, half genuine. He looks back to Montparnasse, suddenly confident because  _this just might work_.

"Yeah, I've been asking him to introduce us for forever, but you know how stubborn he can get." Enjolras laughs, shaking his head fondly.

[No seriously what the fuck is happening.]

Montparnasse's phone pings, and he slides it out of the pocket of his black skinny jeans. Unlocking it, he makes an annoyed noise. "Shit, I gotta go." He looks to Grantaire apologetically, then at Enjolras with another sincere, blinding smile. "We gotta hang sometime, yeah?"

"Definitely." Enjolras nods, and Montparnasse and Grantaire fist bump again before Montparnasse practically struts away, gone as quickly as he came, and Enjolras turns to gape at Grantaire. There are a lot of things he can't believe just happened, not least of which is the information that this grungy hipster man  _knows Montparnasse_. _  
_

Grantaire just stares at their still intertwined hands. Enjolras waits for him to notice his stare, to say _anything,_ but he seems stunned silent.

"What the hell was that?" He cries, half hysterical, breaking the silence at last.

Head jerking up, Grantaire lets go of Enjolras' hand like the contact physically pains him and stammers, "Uh, Montparnasse is an old friend who, uh, tends to pry into my personal life more than I'd like. I _might_ have made up a fake boyfriend so he would leave me alone."

" _An old friend_?" Enjolras squeaks. There's no way this is actually his life. It just isn't possible. He clears his throat, trying for effortless calm, and manages to get out, "He looks kind of..." Like a criminal. A cold-blooded killer. Someone who'd have you killed for getting dirt on his shoes. "Scary."

Grantaire snorts. "That's just the act. And the piercings. _And_ the outfit. And, okay, yeah, the eyeliner and scar. But let me tell you, he owns three different copies of Lilo and Stitch and watches it on a weekly basis. Cries every time." Grantaire smiles, obviously fond of the criminal. _Criminal._ "He's a big softie once you get to know him. And an  _amazing_ cook."

Enjolras just nods, because why the hell not? After the events of the last few minutes, he's honestly ready to believe any halfway plausible explanation Grantaire can offer.

"But, um, thanks, I guess." Grantaire kicks his feet awkwardly, adjusting his beanie. "For playing along. And for whatever the hell caused that kiss."

"I should've asked, I'm so sorry-"

"You hear me complaining?" He laughs, shrugging in his torn-up jacket. It's oddly endearing, the way his awkward little half smile scrunches up his nose."So, you've got that thing to get to, obviously..."

Enjolras could agree and walk away, easy as breathing. He'd never see Grantaire again, never have to come into contact with the oddly endearing and _very_  argumentative man he's known for all of maybe ten minutes.

_Fuck it._

_"_ Do you have a phone?" Grantaire nods, carefully, and Enjolras gestures for it. Pulling the phone out of his pocket he places it carefully in Enjolras' hand, like he's half suspecting the blond to take it and run. Instead, Enjolras types in one of his numbers and saves it under his name, before handing it back with a shrug, like they didn't just have a dramatic and stressful argument in which Enjolras blatantly and vocally refused to give Grantaire his number. He glances at Grantaire's shocked, confused expression, and says simply, "In case you ever feel like arguing about littering over overpriced coffee sometime."

With a nod of determination, Enjolras leaves Grantaire standing there, still trying to understand what's just happened to him and gaping at the phone in his hand.

He walks down the street, whistling a little as he goes, hands tucked into his pocket as he strolls past Gavroche, who's still doing tricks on his skateboard and waiting for Enjolras and Grantaire to clear the area. He doesn't acknowledge the kid other than giving him a quick glare of disdain, in case Grantaire is watching, and he knows that when he turns his back Gavroche will flip him off, perfectly in character. He does love that kid. He walks a little bit further down the street, obviously in the opposite direction from Montparnasse, before turning down a side street and doubling back towards their rendezvous point. Enjolras pauses mid step, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

He frowns.

" _What_ was that about you two in my kitchen?" 

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't clear, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are totally dating.  
> and this was for a prompt i got on tumblr that was for 'e/R. Wrong order at a coffee shop.' which i took to the extreme so sorry about that
> 
> additionally i named the fic after a movie that came up when i googled 'shitty spy movies'  
> so there you go


End file.
